


Duskwatch

by TheRightPurpleElves



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, I know it's shocking, Modern AU, Thalvanas, They meet in a bar, i actually planned this fic out, living Sylvanas, sadvanas for a time, scuse me jumping on the thalvanas bandwagon, will be happy lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRightPurpleElves/pseuds/TheRightPurpleElves
Summary: So little of the elf had been visible past her hood that first time, just a slash of dark lipstick for a mouth and the myriad of studs and jewels glimmering in her ears. Thalyssra had always been told that curiosity killed the owlcat. A good thing she was nothing so fluffy.Shalassian vintner Thalyssra decides to return to Suramar for inspiration. She has three days to convince the high elf haunting her best friend's bar to come with her.Sylvanas has three days to decide whether she is willing to trust again.
Relationships: Thalyssra/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is me, jumping on the Thalvanas bandwagon. There are some incredible fics for this pairing (looking at you, Corpse Lily), and then i got prompted on tumblr to write some and... well this happened.
> 
> Thank you to useless_lesbean for your help and beta reading, and pushing me to actually write this pairing. You're the best.
> 
> Also, because this is probably the best chance I'll get to say it: Black Lives Matter. There are many charities and organisations calling for donations to support protesters and black communities. Amplify the voices of black activists, black creators, black orators and authors, and listen to them, and find your own resources on being an ally. (edited to make doubly sure to stick to ao3's TOS)
> 
> and finally- I will update my other fics soon I swear!!  
> hope you enjoy!

“Give this delicious creature a try.” With a wink far too familiar to be part of a professional business transaction, Thalyssra slides a snifter of wine over the bar and into Margaux’s waiting fingers. The highly-trendy background lighting in _Shimmershade_ ebbs and flows around them, flooding their faces in and out of shadow. “Subtle citric undertones compliment a sweeter palate. A nice acidity that does not linger and sting the tongue. And enough mana infused within to knock an orc sideways.”

“Just how I like it.” Margaux knocks the whole tumbler back in one go, scrunching her delicate face up. “Oh, _yes._ It won’t resonate with my clientele here, but I won’t say no to a case for my personal consumption.”

Sighing, Thalyssra props herself up on the stool. The music from the karaoke bar has long since set her head throbbing. Her feet are killing her in their unbroken high heels. Her calves are cold from the draught right by the door and Margaux has only bought two cases of wine in as many weeks. “So a grand total of one case of handcrafted, Nightwell-infused, expertly-balanced arcwine… and four of the mana lager,” she murmurs. “Keep this up and I may yet feel rather wounded, Mar. I appreciate the custom, but my wine commission is looking flatter than Lor’themar’s ass.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Margaux returns mildly. “New city, that’s all.” She leans closer. “And I always have repeat custom on the wines I do take from you.”

“How? You drink the lot before it makes it to your customers.”

“Lies! I only drink half.”

Thalyssra reaches round her for the pitiful remnants sloshing at the bottom of the bottle Margaux had produced from her chiller. “That’s a very generous definition of ‘half’. Here, put this one in next to it, that’s another one for you to try, a newer arcwine.”

“I’m generous with everything. Just ask Ly’leth.” Margaux offers her a cocked eyebrow as she carefully slots the proffered bottle in. “And if you must know, it’s your arcwine that keeps _her_ coming in, day after day. I’ve offered her every beverage in this humble establishment, but it’s your bottle she’s pointing to, before she’s even sat herself down.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” Returning the bottle to the chiller, Margaux waves her other hand in her direction. “High elves have a very discerning palate. And this one, more than most. You should introduce yourself when next she’s here. I’m sure the vintner who labours her fingers to the bone to produce her favourite tipple would make for a pleasant surprise.”

Running a hand over her forehead, Thalyssra attempts a smile. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m actually taking a portal back to the vineyard this weekend. I need inspiration. Five more days of dabbling my toes in the brook any time I wish to. And drinking my tits off.”

“A sure-fire way to find your mojo, as the trolls might say.” Margaux offers her another little smile, far softer at the edges this time. “I’ll miss you, Thal. Dalaran’s a big place without a big friend to share it with.”

“I’m sure Oculeth will come keep you company.”

“Oculeth!” Thalyssra only just dodges the slap Margaux aims at her arm. “And have yet another freshly-painted wall ruined? I would say you’ve sampled too much of your own product.”

“He’d been studying that particular chemical process for a long time, he just happened to be at yours when he had a major mental breakthrough, and it was just as much my fault for lending him a marker pen-”

“I actually framed it,” Margaux says offhandedly, re-folding an already perfectly folded tea towel. “It’s now an original piece of modern art. The estate agent told me it’ll generate thousands when I sell the place on.”

“ _Thousands?_ ”

“What can I say? He’s a talent. Apparently.”

Thalyssra stares down at the bar. “Maybe I should invite him to stay at mine next time,” she mumbles.

“Sorry, darling. As tempting as it may be, I believe I still have dibs on Dalaran’s next abstract master.” Margaux’s ear twitches and her eyes dart to one side as the bell clatters above the door. “Oh, look! It’s your lovely high elf, on the march this way-”

In a split second, Thalyssra has launched herself off her stool and over the bar and thrown herself into the corner.

Margaux glares down at her. “Again?”

“Shut up and serve her,” Thalyssra hisses.

With an eye roll spectacular enough for her nightborne heritage, Margaux turns on her heel and marches back to the bar. “This isn’t over,” she mutters, even as she plasters a smile on and reaches for the rack of glasses hanging from the ceiling. “Good evening, _dalah!_ What’s your poison tonight?”

“I’ll start with the Shalassian arcwine, please. Just one glass for now.”

It was her voice that pulled Thalyssra in first. It was melodic, in a way Thalyssra hadn’t heard before; concise and deliberate and musical with it. The sort of voice that could command as easily as it could soothe. So little of the elf had been visible past her hood that first time, just a slash of dark lipstick for a mouth and the myriad of studs and jewels glimmering in her ears. Thalyssra had always been told that curiosity killed the owlcat. A good thing she was nothing so fluffy.

Next time, she had seen a spill of soft blonde hair escaping that embroidered hood. Then the leather jacket had shifted as the elf reached for her drink, and a pendant had caught the dim light of the bar; when, finally, the jacket had come off, the tattooed vines winding chain-like around her forearms had had Thalyssra captivated for a solid half an hour.

The hood stayed up, but at some point, it had fallen back to her crown to reveal high-boned cheeks and silvery eyes.

It was unfortunate that the leatherette driving gloves had been discarded that same day, or Thalyssra might have held out a little longer, but those hands-

_CRASH!_

“Oh, _Nightwell curse that useless boy!_ ” Slamming the glass down on the bar, Margaux flies past Thalyssra and into the stockroom, leaving a slew of Shalassian curses in her wake. “ _ARLUIN!_ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW!”

“I’m sorry, Auntie,” echoes a slightly dazed voice. “My foot slipped.”

“And your tongue dropped straight into my stash of Silvermoon Blanc, is that it? Ugh! Just _look_ at it all!” Thalyssra yelps as a balled-up towel hits her square in the face. “Go and serve the lady, Thalyssra, I’ll make it worth your while. Try not to set anything on fire as you do it.”

“I- I can help clean up!” Staggering to her feet, Thalyssra makes to run after her only for Margaux to shove her back out. “I know all about these broom things-”

“No, you don’t. Go pour a drink for the lady, it’ll be easier than dealing with this mess, I assure you. Or the spillage. Arluin, I swear on the Nightwell, one of these days-”

Her heart thumping in her chest, Thalyssra steps back out. Turns. Slowly, and almost shyly, puts the tea towel down on the bar, and takes one, two, three steps over to where the high elf is sat, watching her from beneath that hood.

“Hi,” she trills, with all the confidence she possesses and some she didn’t know she did. “Uh. The arcwine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes please,” those full lips say.

Thalyssra is a grown woman. A businesswoman, well-travelled, well-versed in negotiations and transactions and holding her ground against those who would believe themselves superior in such practices. And she has come completely undone in the face of a woman who watches her with piercing silver eyes, and somehow fails to notice how hard Thalyssra’s hand is shaking when her drink is placed in front of her.

“Thank you,” she says. There’s the tiniest hint of a dimple in her smile. “I appreciate it.” She lifts the glass to her lips for her first sip, and swallows, and licks them with a little pink tongue as she places the glass back down. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s, uh, Thalyssra.” This is just a boardroom meeting. In a wine bar. With a Nightwell-damned enchantress on the other side of the table. “And I don’t believe I know yours.”

The corner of her mouth curls up. “Sylvanas,” she offers, and presses her hand against her chest in the greeting Thalyssra has come to expect from high elves. Her nails are painted black, the lacquer peeling ever so slightly at the edges. “ _Bal’a dash._ ”

“ _Ith’el kanesh,_ ” Thalyssra returns, as quickly as she can. And, because now she’s initiated conversation, she’s desperate to keep it going: “Dalaran is a little closer to home for you than it is for me.”

“True,” the elf- Sylvanas, says, and takes another sip of her drink. “Would that your bubble stretched to accommodate another city, perhaps?”

“Or perhaps if your Ban’dinoriel were a little further south.” Thalyssra offers her a little fanged grin, even as her pulse jumps to a hundred miles per hour. “I’m sure the quel’dorei would once have relished the opportunity to lay siege to Lordaeron.”

Sylvanas scrunches that delicate face up. This close, Thalyssra can spot a couple of freckles hidden beneath her immaculate makeup; funny, how quel’dorei are so keen to hide their sun spots outside of Quel’Thalas, as though they think the other races would view them as blemishes or flaws and not the simple characteristics they are. “Lordaeron is cold, and wet, and inhabited by creatures far more terrifying than a gaggle of snobby high elves. But its people are so insistent on fighting to the death for it. Maybe it’s prettier on the inside. Makes you wonder what they’re hiding in the sewers. Another city, perhaps. A less dismal one.”

There’s a tiny scar under Sylvanas’s right eye. Just deep enough that her eyeliner divots a degree or two down into it.

“Either that, or King Terenas has a _monster_ of a sex dungeon down there.”

Oh Nightwell save her. She mentioned sex. She barely knows the woman and she’s cracking _sex jokes_ and not even a good one, a thoroughly stupid joke, at least she’s wearing a red blouse, so when Sylvanas throws her drink over her she’ll stand a chance of saving it-

“It would be nothing compared to the sex dungeon beneath Sunfury Spire.” Sylvanas lifts her glass in a mock toast. “If the Silvermoon Herald is to be believed, King Anasterian is an utter deviant.”

Thalyssra blinks. Quickly gathers in a breath- _wait she’s joking back Thalyssra do something-_ and offers, as casually as she can, “You wonder what they’re compensating for, really.”

“Seems the crown jewels may not be all that impressive?”

Thalyssra’s bark of laughter is inappropriately loud. “I offer no comment,” she returns, and looks back down at the glass of arcwine. Still half full. Damn, she can’t offer a refill. She needs to find more words, even these words that feel thick as tar on her tongue.

“I didn’t actually think you worked here,” Sylvanas says, leaning just a little closer. “You were always under the bar when I came in. I assumed you did some sort of maintenance that I wouldn’t understand down there.”

Sending a prayer to the Nightwell that the fashionable lighting covers her blush, Thalyssra reaches for the tea towel and folds it so as to have something to do with her hands. “I am actually a vintner,” she says, and tugs her business card out of her pocket to slap down on the bar. “I have a vineyard in Suramar, near the village of Meredil, where I am both owner and lead sommelier- our arcwine is made in the cave systems of Shal’Aran, where it has been crafted for thousands of years, even prior to the Dusk Lily Rebellion. The atmosphere within the caves aids in preserving its purity and flavour for our noble and discerning customers.”

“Really?”

“No, by the time they’re three glasses down, they can’t tell their ears from their legs.” She delights in the husky little chuckle that earns her. “Though I do pride myself on my wares. You will find the higher echelons of Nightborne society are very discerning when it comes to their alcohol, and they are the ones who pay the most.” Oh, she’s growing braver, and Sylvanas is keenly scanning the card, her own ears high and alert, so Thalyssra reaches for the newest bottle in Margaux’s cooler. Takes a breath to steady herself.

“May I offer you a sample? On the house, of course.”

“I would be delighted.” Sylvanas pushes her glass to one side and-

And tugs her hood down.

Thalyssra promptly fumbles the bottle, grabbing at it with both hands.

“ _Shanar!_ There- there is condensation on the surface,” she declares, flashing a too-bright smile as she juggles the bottle. _Nightwell she’s so pretty!_ “How foolish of me, to handle my own product so carelessly.” As quickly as she can, she pours a (generous) three fingers into a glass and motions for Sylvanas to take it. “A small sip to begin. Arcwine infused with the sort of potency the ley lines of Meredil grant mine is not to be sniffed at. Sniffed, yes. But not taken lightly. Or gulped.”

Sylvanas lifts the glass, staring intently down into its depths. “Then I shall not gulp it,” she says, and lifts her gaze to Thalyssra’s. “Something so beautifully crafted is not to be rushed.”

“No,” Thalyssra returns, without breaking eye contact. “Truly not.”

There’s a pause.

Thalyssra swallows. Plants her feet a little further apart.

“Of course, I may not be talking about the wine, Sylvanas.”

“Neither was I,” Sylvanas says, and- a tiny, cheeky smile on her face- lifts the glass to her lips and takes a delicate sip.

Only to cringe back with a shudder, hissing through clenched fangs. “ _Anar’alah belore_ that’s strong!”

“Are you alright? I am so sorry!” Frantic, Thalyssra lunges over the bar to give her back a solid thump; Sylvanas jerks, gasping. “My sincerest apologies! Tell me you’re alright- let me find something with a lower potency-”

“No, please don’t,” Sylvanas croaks, and- _oh Nightwell is she sure about this-_ lifts the glass back up and takes another, careful, sip. “Oh, it’s… I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”

“I hope you’re talking about the arcwine this time.”

Thalyssra’s cheeks flush with heat at the watery blink Sylvanas sends her way. “Maybe.”

“Take the rest of it carefully. Arcwine is tricksy, even for Nightborne. You feel quite normal in your head, you go to stand up, and the next thing you know you’re face-down on the floor and everyone is laughing at your sprawling carcass squirming all over someone’s thousand-year-old carpet. And carpets that old are _very_ smelly up close. I speak from experience.”

“I think my family home has one at about six hundred years old,” Sylvanas wheezes. “Minn’da puts the hounds in that room.”

“Your minn’da sounds wise.”

“Too wise, and she will never let me forget it.” Sylvanas lifts the glass up and squints down at it. “She would definitely, and very sagely, tell me not to drink any more. That I will regret it tomorrow morning. Probably this evening.”

And she downs half her arcwine in one gulp.

Thalyssra bursts out laughing. “There is wisdom,” she counters, pushing Sylvanas’s other glass back towards her, “and there is having fun, and the two do not always get along that well. A Pandaren gentleman told me that. We were at a house party in Durotar, two garage bands were arguing over who played first, most of the guests had snuck into the shed to play Cards Against Azeroth, and this Pandaren brewery owner was three sheets to the wind and covered in chocolate from the chocolate fountain he apparently meant to fall into. But all the same, I’m inclined to agree with him. Even as I offer to take that glass away from you.”

“You know some interesting people, Thalyssra.” Sylvanas relinquishes what’s left of her snifter into Thalyssra’s hand. When their fingers brush, her skin is cool and calloused. “I’ll content myself with the less potent wine for now.”

“When Suramar opened its borders, many young Nightborne scattered across the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor. I was desperate to make connections. Find those who shared my interests, who could show me what Azeroth had to offer. Chen was one such connection, and though I can’t offhand recall a conversation where both of us weren’t drunk, I can’t offhand recall a conversation that was ever dull, either.” Thalyssra offers her a soft smile. “Doubtless you could introduce me to a plethora of characters too.”

There’s a pause. Sylvanas looks down at her glass. Rubs at the scar beneath her eye.

“If there were people in Dalaran who wished to keep me company,” she says, and lifts her gaze back to Thalyssra, “then perhaps I would not haunt this bar like the lonely little ghost I am, drinking by myself.”

The quirk of her lip is solemn. Her voice drips with self-deprecation. All Thalyssra can think to do is stand there, staring at this beautiful enigma with her tight-fitting jacket and her sculpted face, and opens her mouth to tell Sylvanas how long it took to work up the courage even to approach her-

“I apologise. You didn’t come here for a maudlin elf to ruin your evening.” Sylvanas sucks in a deep breath, sits up straighter, and lifts her glass to Thalyssra. “To, uh… interesting characters?”

“Yes.” Thalyssra snatches up the bottle to clink against Sylvanas’s glass. “And, if I may be so forward, to you, Sylvanas whose surname I still do not know.”

Sylvanas chuckles again, and takes a sip before she speaks. “Windrunner.”

“Like the TV Dalaran news anchor?”

“That’s my cousin. Zendarin.” Sylvanas offers nothing further. Thalyssra elects not to pry. “I have no embarrassing middle names, I’m afraid. That’s a human thing.”

“What a shame.” Sylvanas’s glass is near empty now, and Thalyssra watches her tip the last few drops into her mouth, lick the rim of the glass with the tip of her tongue. “You could always make some up. Chen struggled with my fellow Nightborne Oculeth’s name, so he gave him a nickname, and now even Oculeth sometimes signs as Oggie. Staying for another glass?”

Sylvanas swings her handbag back over her shoulder. “As much as I am tempted- I fear that if I stay, in my drunken haze, I will disclose enough of my dark secrets to you that rather than bringing me arcwine tomorrow, you will bring a stake to thrust through my heart.” She flashes Thalyssra a fanged grin. “And the front door to my housing complex is locked at ten. No stragglers.”

“What spoilsports.”

“I like it. My balcony is dark and quiet, and if you sit still for long enough, the bats will come and perch on your railings between hunts. But only if you are completely silent. It is fortunate indeed that high elves are known for their natural poise and grace.”

And she lifts herself off her chair and topples to the floor with a curse.

“ _Shanar!_ Are you alright?” Thalyssra vaults the bar, dropping to her knees beside the pile of high elf struggling her way up onto her elbows. “The arcwine truly is very potent, I’m sorry, I should have held your elbow-”

“No need,” Sylvanas murmurs, as Thalyssra pulls her into a sitting position. “Natural high elven grace, remember. Smooth as a lynx.”

Thalyssra casts an eye over her. “Yes. I can see that.”

For a moment, they simply sit, braced together on the floor of Margaux’s overly-trendy bar. Sylvanas feels smaller in Thalyssra’s arms. The leather jacket lends her a bulk she doesn’t naturally have.

“I know a coffee shop, here in central Dalaran,” Thalyssra says, after a moment, and wraps her arm around Sylvanas’s lower back to carefully lift her to her feet. “They could make you something to help you sober up. Or, if you would permit… I could take you to your own street. Make sure you get there safely. No need for me to walk you to your front door, you may remain as anonymous as you wish.”

“Or,” Sylvanas returns, and Thalyssra feels her back muscles flex as she squirms round. Powerful shoulders. A sportswoman’s shoulders. “You could come and watch the bats with me.”

_Watch the bats with me._

Her eyes are so beautiful. And piercing.

Thalyssra blinks. Her heart hammers in her chest. “I…”

“I’m sorry. That was too forward.” Sylvanas pulls away, grabbing at the bar stool to try to steady herself. “I will get a taxi. I’m sure there’s a rank not far from here-”

“As long as I’m paying half.” And this time, Thalyssra doesn’t give her a moment to protest before she’s taking as much of her weight as she can and manoeuvring them both through the doors, Sylvanas’s handbag clutched in her own fingers. “Put it on my tab, Margaux, I’ll have your order in tomorrow!” she yells behind her, and just like that, the door jangles shut behind them.

She steps forward onto the Dalaran high street, holding Sylvanas Windrunner in one arm, and hails a taxi.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long! this entire chapter was plotted some time ago. then i just wrote it today. hopefully it makes sense.
> 
> keep supporting blm creatives and charities, and stay safe everyone <3
> 
> useless_lesbean: hope you enjoy this chapter.

_This is Dalaran News, I’m Zendarin Windrunner. The news at half past nine. Dalaran continues to ready itself to host next year’s Azerothian Olympics, but with the stadium only half-complete, doubts are being cast over the working conditions of those constructing it…_

Their taxi driver, an orc with muscles bulging out of his sports jumper, turns the radio down and regards them with placid green eyes. “Where to, ladies?”

“The Undercity, south gate,” Sylvanas mumbles into Thalyssra’s scarf. Tugs futilely at the hand that, at some point between _Shimmershade_ and here, got hopelessly tangled up in its tassels. Chuckling at her antics, Thalyssra gently pulls it free; something small and dense plops onto Thalyssra’s lap, and she swoops in and picks it up before it’s dislodged by the taxi accelerating away. A signet ring.

“Nice ring,” she says, to a groggy smile from Sylvanas. It is a nice ring. A ring sized for a man’s finger, not the slender hand reaching hazily towards it. _A miracle that she didn’t lose it long ago._

Thalyssra holds it up and makes a show of placing it safely in Sylvanas’s bag.

_Police chiefs warn that violence is on the increase in Dalaran, with reported knife crimes up by a third on this time last year._

She lets the handbag drop onto the seat beside her and wraps her arm tighter around those slender, muscled shoulders. She can feel each breath against her ribs. Sylvanas’s hair is silken against her chin.

When was the last time she was so close to another woman?

_Chief Superintendent Varok Saurfang warns citizens not to carry a blade in self-defence, but to call for help if they believe someone may be concealing a knife._

“Peh,” the orc says, and flaps a meaty hand. “And if men like Superintendent Saurfang ever set foot on these streets, they’d bring a whole army with them as protection.”

“Only one army?” To her credit, Sylvanas doesn’t slur her words at all. Only her half-lidded eyes and the gentle flush of her cheeks betray how much arcwine she’s enjoyed tonight. “He must be slipping.”

The vibration of her voice against Thalyssra’s body is so pleasant.

_A vote has been scheduled for next week regarding possible jail terms for carrying any offensive weapon in public._

“Surely,” Thalyssra says, a little distracted by the softness of the fingers her own are brushing against, “the answer is not for all to arm themselves, but for none to arm themselves?”

The orc’s eyes narrow in his rear-view mirror.

“When violence became a problem in Suramar,” she continues, unperturbed, “the Grand Magistrix traced the increase to poverty. She created industry and further fields of research and education, offering boons to enterprises hiring new workers. Of course, nothing so simple solves any such complicated issue. I am but a newcomer here in Dalaran. It must be said, however, that it did improve things in Suramar.” Quirks an eyebrow. “The arcwine industry did exceptionally well. The same cannot be said for Nightborne livers.”

The orc grunts a laugh. “And then?”

“Well, then we had a massive rebellion and burned half the city to the ground, but that was less to do with the price of broccoli and more to do with the Grand Magistrix making allies of the Burning Legion.”

“It’s a bold election strategy,” the orc returns, a grin tugging at his lips.

_Quel’Thalas warns that, until rates of violence drop, travellers from Dalaran will be subject to a search of their personal effects, regardless of whether they are a Thalassian citizen._

“My keys,” Sylvanas mumbles. “In my bag.”

“Right.” Thalyssra unzips the bag one-handed, rummages for anything metallic-

Freezes as her fingers touch the pommel of a dagger.

Sylvanas’s eyes open and she squints down at the bag, then up at Thalyssra, brow furrowed.

Those silvery eyes widen in horror and she lunges for the bag and Thalyssra’s fumbling fingers latch onto a jangling keyring only for Sylvanas’s hands to slam into them so hard she tips the whole bag over.

“Please don’t,” she whispers.

Thalyssra raises an eyebrow and opens her palm to show Sylvanas the keys.

“That’ll be eight-fifty, ladies.” The orc’s voice drowns out Sylvanas’s sigh of relief, and Thalyssra drops the keys into her palm and tugs a ten-gold note from her pocket to pass over. “One moment while I find you some change.”

“Take it as a tip.” Thalyssra’s already halfway out the cab; Sylvanas scrambles to shove everything back in her handbag and scuttles out, clutching it tight to her belly. “ _Erana-dora isil_ , mister…?”

“Broxigar.” The orc winks. “Goodnight, ladies.” And he’s off.

Sylvanas steps back, stumbling over her own feet. Thalyssra rushes to brace her but Sylvanas holds a hand out and she stops dead. “Don’t judge me,” she hisses. “I carry it for a reason.” She pulls her hood back up and steadies herself on the gate, her black-clad form small and hunched; Thalyssra could swear the shadows gravitate towards her. “Here, I… ten gold. For the journey.” And she pulls two crumpled notes from her pocket and, staring at the ground, holds them out.

Thalyssra plucks the notes from her fingers and tucks one back into her jacket pocket, ignoring her hiss of surprise. “Five gold for your story,” she says, without missing a beat. Her heart is pounding at her own boldness. How foolish, when mere moments ago she held Sylvanas to her chest. “Any story you wish to tell me. Why you carry a dagger. How you found your way to _Shimmershade._ The last time you ate too much sugar. Five gold is a pittance for any tale you are willing to tell me.”

Sylvanas opens her mouth-

“Sylvanas! Get in or get out! The fucking security light comes right into my fucking bedroom.” A gangly human woman half-hanging out of a second floor window glares blearily down at them from beneath a black silk sleep mask. “And I am not a morning person.”

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas glances back to Thalyssra. “We’re coming in, Lilian,” she calls. Holds her keys aloft. “Enjoy your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.” Lilian blows her a kiss and slams her window shut.

Thalyssra raises her eyebrows.

Sylvanas just sighs. “This will be the worst five gold you’ve ever spent.” And she pushes the gate open and holds it for Thalyssra.

“I doubt that very much,” Thalyssra says as she steps through.

-0-0-

“Mr Windrunner?”

Zendarin turns in his chair, quickly affecting the broad smile the broadcaster loves so much. “Hello, Areiel,” he beams at the receptionist all but jogging his way. Pretty girl. Would be nice for the night. And if she kicked up a fuss, he could have her fired in a heartbeat. “What can I do for you today?”

“Mr Windrunner, Here 2 Durotar phoned.” At his blank stare, she hurriedly continues: “The taxi company? A passenger left a signet ring in the back of one of their cabs. It’s a Windrunner signet ring. They wondered if you had left it there, perhaps.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Not me, I’m afraid,” he says, and stands, brushing his suit jacket off. “But I do happen to know my cousin is rather reliant on taxis. It must be returned to her immediately.” His hand trembles ever so slightly with anticipation, so he shakes it out lest she notice. “Areiel, my darling, I’m a little too tired to drive myself tonight. Would you get this same driver to come take me home? We shall kill two birds with one stone.”

“Of course, Mr Windrunner!” She bows and scampers off, giving him a lovely view of her pencil-skirt-clad behind.

Zendarin picks his coat up and slings it over his shoulder. Smiles.

“Hello again, Lady Moon,” he murmurs.

-0-0-

“Have you ever been to Zabra’jin?”

Thalyssra shakes her head. There is one lone bat perched on the gutter opposite the little balcony, and Sylvanas’s gaze is fixed on it, as intent as a gaze can be when still half-drunk. “No,” she says, in case Sylvanas, in her bat trance, didn’t notice it. “I haven’t, but I know there were many battles between the quel’dorei and the Amani trolls.”

“It’s funny. My ancestors fought and died to try to take Zabra’jin, yet when I got into a scuffle there, it was with a dwarf.” The blanket arranged over both their laps shifts as Sylvanas wriggles. “Bat fact?”

Thalyssra raises an eyebrow. “I’d be honoured,” she returns, with a smile.

“They live up to thirty years. Longer than troggs, or gnolls. Humans used to think they were related to elves, for the ears and the lifespan, and then they began to spread the rumour that elves drink blood.” Sylvanas bares her own fangs. Thalyssra can’t help but imagine them scraping over the nape of her own neck. “In truth they’re closer related to the humans who thought so. Or even the dwarf I fought in Zabra’jin.”

“And what did this egregious dwarf do? Ask how the oxygen was up there?”

Sylvanas snorts. “His name was Gidwin, which is already an offence in itself. I duelled him for a heinous insult to my elven heritage.”

“Oh?”

“He called me _tree-hugger._ ”

“Sylvanas, your very name means _she of the forest._ ”

“He didn’t know that. I knocked him out, he broke my wrist, and the doorman told us we had a lifetime ban before I flashed him my arcane orbs.”

“Did he un-ban you?”

“No, but he did sign my cast.”

_This elf is delightful._ Thalyssra chuckles, low in her throat, and reaches for Sylvanas’s hands beneath the blanket. “Which wrist?”

“My right.”

“Got a pen?”

It’s Sylvanas’s turn to laugh, rich and smooth, like the arcwine she so adores. “No.”

Thalyssra quirks her a grin, pulls a pen from her own pocket, and Sylvanas yelps as she signs her name with a flourish up that slender wrist. “That was a Sharpie!” she complains half-heartedly, tugging her hand out from beneath the blanket and turning it this way and that. “I’ll never get it off!”

“I can get you off instead,” Thalyssra offers before she can stop herself.

Sylvanas freezes.

Thalyssra swallows hard. Her fist clenches on her lap as though she could grab the words back out of the air. The bat flaps nonchalantly away, presumably to spend the rest of its thirty-year lifespan away from Thalyssra. _I should probably fly away too. But I would fall. I should probably still do it-_

“I’m sorry,” she croaks instead. “That… that was crude and uncalled for. I’m sorry, really, I should know better. It wasn’t even good wordplay.”

“It wasn’t bad.” Sylvanas’s eyes are fixed on her own lap. “I’m not offended. I would… I would love to take you up on your offer. But…”

Thalyssra reaches for her arm again. Holds it lightly, as though the thin wrist she cradles were still broken. “But?”

Those silvery eyes are squeezed closed. Sylvanas draws in a deep breath. “I invited you here, didn’t I? I invited you to come and stay the night, and now I can’t follow through on my own promise, _Belore_ I’m a fool.”

“You promised me nothing but a bat or two.” Thalyssra leans closer. “I even got bat facts.”

Sylvanas starts when the five gold note is pressed into her other hand. “The first note was for the story of your holiday to Zabra’jin. And the bat facts, if you must. This one is for something else. I do not expect an immediate return. It will take as long as it takes for you to be comfortable with me. To trust me.”

There’s silence, but Sylvanas’s fingers slide back to intertwine with Thalyssra’s.

“I have one more story from that house party in Durotar,” Thalyssra says, more to fill in the silence than anything else. _I cannot bear the thought of Sylvanas feeling uncomfortable with me here._ “This one’s a freebie. A sample? Anyhow. My friend Chen- the one covered in chocolate- he decided he wanted to re-enact a story from his homeland. I’m still not sure which one, it just seemed to have a lot of dragons. Which doesn’t really narrow it down.” Takes a breath. Draws Sylvanas’s hand into both of her own. “The only drawback to his plan was that dragons are a little thin on the ground in Durotar, but Chen decided he could make do.”

Sylvanas’s fingers squeeze hers.

“He tied six trolls together,” Thalyssra continues. “I assumed at the time they were cousins, or roommates, or something. Turns out they were just very drunk. Then he gave the front-most troll a cigarette lighter. Did you know the fire brigade in Durotar has an average response time of three minutes? I have some great photographs of them hosing Chen off. He didn’t catch fire. He was just very sticky.”

Sylvanas hiccups. “See. You know interesting people.”

“I suppose I do-”

“You’re gorgeous,” Sylvanas bursts out, and Thalyssra blinks dumbly as those beautiful eyes snap open and stare at her. “Smart. Kind. Witty. And they all know it too. You will realise soon enough that I am rotten on the inside. _Belore,_ you’ll realise, take your gold back, I-!” She jumps up, tugging at her own hair. “You could have any elf in Dalaran!”

“I think you overestimate my charm.” Thalyssra picks the blanket up and folds it, places it back on the bench. Her arms ache to reach out, to hold, but she gives Sylvanas a moment, and pretends she didn’t catch more moonlit tear tracks on her cheeks. “The temperature drops quickly in Dalaran. I’m sure neither of us fancies being an elf-cicle tonight. Are you tired?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas breathes, and wipes her cheeks with her palms. “But I need to keep talking.”

_Oh._ “Of course,” Thalyssra says. “With or without arcwine?”

“With.”

“What sort of vintner would I be if I had no samples on my person?”

Sylvanas, already shivering without the blanket to warm her, tugs the balcony door open and motions her in. “Glasses above the cooker,” she says, and darts for the sofa and the portable heater humming away beside it. “And there are peanuts, if you like them. Only sort of nuts I like.”

Thalyssra snorts an undignified laugh. “Go and defrost, lest I give in to my urges and hug you warm.”

“My knight in a shining pantsuit,” Sylvanas returns through chattering teeth. The smile that she offers Thalyssra is far too soft for the teasing in her voice.

Thalyssra returns it as she pulls two chipped wine glasses down, pours two generous measures of arcwine into them, and carries them back over. “Your turn,” she says softly, as she places the glass in front of Sylvanas. “I will listen for as long as you want me to.”

She had hoped there would be a couple of pictures of Sylvanas, as she waits for her to take a healthy sip of arcwine and collect her thoughts. The walls are bare. There is not so much as a passport photo to mark this room as Sylvanas’s.

Too clinical, for such a creature.

“Did you ever run away?” Sylvanas is regarding Thalyssra with tired eyes, cradling her arcwine on her lap. “When you were younger?”

“No. My _min’da_ was my best friend. Also an excellent cook.”

“I ran away to Falthrien once. Ah, so rebellious, right? Turns out all there is on Falthrien is an academy. I ran away to a fucking _school._ ”

“You nerd.”

Sylvanas snorts. “And yet the only thing I learned was how to throw a guard dog off your scent. Hawkstrider jerky. Worked every time.”

“I’m sure to remember that.” Thalyssra takes a breath. Reaches to wrap her arm around Sylvanas’s back. “Wonder if it works with manasabers?”

“I’ll let you find out,” Sylvanas says. Wriggles closer. Reaches for Thalyssra’s hand again, and drops her head onto Thalyssra’s shoulder, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for bearing with me to get this chapter out. any feedback is hugely appreciated- thank you for reading!


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